


it's brighter now

by raikaya (rqyh)



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Deaths but everyone reincarnates so, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Gen, Gods, Implied sexy times, M/M, Reincarnation, also there a lot of historical stuff, also there's violence, ambiguous ending???, and moral stuff apparently, briwoonweek20, day 5: reincarnation, dw abt it tho, i cant find them, i havent read this in a while so i dont know what to tag, i just reread this, i swear i wrote the tags before, it happens just once, its good, star-crossed lovers, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26300134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rqyh/pseuds/raikaya
Summary: Younghyun watches Dowoon across multiple lifetimes.
Relationships: Kang Younghyun | Young K/Yoon Dowoon
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	it's brighter now

Younghyun's eyes are downcasted, a sort of lazy, nonchalant type of look as he gazes down at the streets below, watching as a group of kids run along the houses of the neighborhood.

Some of them have sticks. Others merely run with their hands in the air. And the fourth one lags behind them, looking like he has trouble breathing. 

Dowoon is a sickly kid in this lifetime. He has a heart disease that needs surgery or else he'll die before twenty. 

Unfortunately, his family is poor. And their neighborhood is full of wicked people. There won't be anyone who will help them, and Dowoon will die at the age of fourteen. 

How does Younghyun know this? Because Younghyun's read the books. He's read the scrolls detailing every single moment inscribed into his fate. And while you can change the details,

death— 

is never negotiable. 

Younghyun keeps his eyes on the boy running slower than the rest of the kids as he leisurely lies down against the gilded tiles of their neighborhood. It's a poor province, and compared to the other cities, this one still hasn't progressed. If they were to try to get Dowoon a surgery, most likely his family would go into debt. And it would all be for nothing, since Dowoon was going to die in his own bed, anyway. 

Still. At least they'd get merits for trying. 

Dowoon is now three meters away from the rest of the kids, running steps gradually slowing down to half-hearted jogs. His family has yet to find out that he's ill, which is why he’s still allowed to run like this. Today should be the day they do. 

Dowoon finally comes to a stop and ends up sitting on the dirty ground, trying to catch his breath. It's then that Younghyun moves.

"I thought you said you'd stop meddling with that human." 

Younghyun turns his head to see a four-thousand-year-old deity standing by his feet, a black umbrella in his hand, the tip placed on the surface of the roof. 

"Dowoon is not a human," Younghyun replies, sitting up so that his feet are dangling on the edge, that deity standing still—tall, skinny. 

"You mean he _used_ to be," replies the umbrella deity, wearing a simple, Western-style black suit and a pair of loafers matching it. “Yoon Dowoon used to be a deity like us, but now he is nothing but a mortal. You should know your place when it comes to this. Else you seek another tribulation.”

“I haven’t done anything out of line,” Younghyun almost snaps, keeping his gaze on the tired boy below him, who’s starting to sweat, holding his chest. “I’m keeping myself within the conditions. I haven’t changed a single word of his fate.”

“But you’ve changed the details,” the umbrella deity points out. “You’ve only _barely_ kept yourself within.”

Younghyun says nothing to that and just keeps his eyes on Dowoon, watching as he starts to pant despite resting for five minutes now, the pain evident on his shoulders.

“Why do you torture yourself like this?” the umbrella deity asks, almost abruptly, that umbrella as still as the owner itself. “You know you can’t change anything, yet you always make sure to ease even a little of his troubles. You aid him, but what will that aid do?”

“Aid,” Younghyun says, face as still as water, “is still aid.”

That umbrella deity just lets out a huff-and-a-sigh and goes to open his umbrella—one with a hooked handle, in accordance with the changing times.

“You should make sure he doesn’t get wet, then,” he advises, lifting that umbrella to shade his body. “Wonpil will arrive soon.”

The umbrella deity—mortal name Park Jaehyung—disappears in a flash and leaves Younghyun alone to watch over Yoon Dowoon, deity name long forgotten.

He jumps down from the gilded tiles and steps onto the dusty street, right in front of the eight-year-old boy who just can’t breathe.

“What’s wrong, little boy?” a voice suddenly asks, and Dowoon looks up to see an old man.

That old man is skinny, so skinny he’s practically skin and bones. Wrinkles cover every part of his body, and when he moves, he shakes.

But his eyes are bright.

“It hurts here…” Dowoon answers, pointing at his chest, finding it difficult to answer. He’s never seen this old man before. Is he a visitor?

“Does it hurt a lot?” the old man asks, and Dowoon nods, taking note of his dusty, old hanbok. Usually, only the elderly and the women ever wear hanbok anymore. His father wears suits to work. “You must be tired. I saw you running with your friends earlier. It’s not good to run without resting.”

The old man crouches down and gives Dowoon a gentle smile, not unlike the way his own mother smiled at him, whenever he drew something with his pencils.

“You should go back home,” the old man advises, “and tell your family about the pain, too. I’m sure they’d find a way to heal it.”

The old man spoke in such a gentle manner, that Dowoon found no reason to find him suspicious. After all, elders are wise people, right? That’s what his parents always said.

“Okay, harabeoji,” Dowoon politely says, as he carefully tries to stand up. The old man goes over to help him, and soon, he’s on his two feet.

“It’s also going to be raining soon,” the old man says to him. “You shouldn’t dilly-dally.”

“Really?” Dowoon looks up to see a blue sky and a couple airplanes passing by. “But Eomeoni says that _gray_ skies cry, not blue ones.”

“The umbrella deity told me. Said the god of rain is coming soon.” That old man smiled at him. “You should always trust what the deities tell you.”

Dowoon doesn’t really get it because his family is one of those who didn’t believe in all the gods and goddesses and deities and whatnot. His grandparents like to preach about it, but his parents never believed it. So, Dowoon never believed in it, either.

But with the kind smile of this stranger, he thinks that maybe there really is a god of rain somewhere, controlling the clouds, roaming the sky.

He bows and thanks the old man and goes back to his home, making sure to walk and not run.

Ten minutes later, it rains in his province.

Ten minutes later, he’s telling everyone that gods exist.

As expected, Dowoon dies in his sleep six years later, alone in his own room.

His parents weren't able to afford a doctor, so they went on to steal from the wealthiest family in town. They were caught and put behind bars, and Dowoon was left alone with no one to take care of him. His grandfather died first, then followed his grandmother. He had no other relatives, so he ended up taking care of himself alone. In his own house.

What Jaehyung said about changing the details was truly a powerful thing, as even Younghyun never expected that things would turn out this way. Instead of accumulating good deeds, his parents ended up becoming criminals, and it would be likely that they’d be removed from the reincarnation cycle, if they didn’t do anything to make up for it.

He didn’t think that Dowoon’s grandparents would die, either. He hoped that there’d be at least someone looking after him. After all, he still had until fourteen. He wasn’t someone who would be able to take care of himself on his own.

But he had done it. As much as he could.

Selling candies on the street. Placing bets and winning money. He had managed to keep that dilapidated house, and no one dared to steal from a poor family, anyway.

Dowoon was able to hold down his fort, though there were many days when he’d fall to the floor, just heaving and breathing—trying to. It would take several minutes. Sometimes, a quarter of an hour. But he’d always stand up afterwards. He’d always go back to work.

Younghyun never appeared before him again. Just kept a close watch on him while he worked. Dowoon never knew the world outside his small town. Never knew the world outside of what he could see—not the books nor the text written on them. 

Then one day, Dowoon had fallen to the floor. And stayed there, for an hour.

Younghyun felt himself get alarmed for the first time, as it had yet to be the hour of death for him. He checked his books over and over again, but nothing changed. Why wasn’t he moving?

In a moment of fear, Younghyun went over to pick Dowoon up, put a hand on his arm, the boy on a crouch.

But the moment he did, Dowoon lifted his eyes up, and for a split-second, saw a pair of eyes as bright as he remembered them.

Dowoon blinked, and those eyes were gone. But the person—

“I know you’re there,” he said, out loud. Now done with pretending that he was in pain. “The air always goes heavy whenever I fall down. This isn’t the first time I’ve pretended.”

There wasn’t an answer. Dowoon stood up and looked around. 

“You haven’t left,” he said, staring at the cabinet in the corner. “I’m looking straight at you.”

A mutter, “No, you aren’t.”

Dowoon whipped his head around to the window in his room. 

“So, that’s where you are,” he said.

Younghyun frowned. _He was bluffing then, too?_

Dowoon kept his gaze right at the open window. There wasn’t even a curtain covering them. And there wasn’t anyone there. 

But Dowoon knew there had to be.

“You’re always around,” he said, walking forward, taking one step, at a time. “You’ve never appeared again, not since that time in the street. But you’re not an old man, are you? You’re a god. You’re friends with an umbrella deity and the god of rain. You…”

Dowoon stopped.

Exactly where Younghyun stood. 

“You can't be anything else," he whispered, as if he'd been thinking about this for years. He was thirteen, then. His birthday passed a month ago. 

A beat passed. Wind passed through the windows. 

"You're wrong," Younghyun finally said, looking straight at the boy in front of him. "Technically, I am old." 

Dowoon felt his chest tighten at the sound of that clear voice. It almost gave him an attack—there was still no one in front of him. 

"Why won't you appear in front of me?" he asked, not daring to take a step further. The voice was deep, like an adult man's, and it sounded like it came just in front of him. "I've already seen you. Why hide?" 

"It's against the Law of the Heavenly Realm," the voice answered. "In fact, I shouldn't be speaking to you right now, either."

"Why are you, then?" The question was innocent, but Younghyun still felt the prick. "If it's against the law, why do you keep watch over me?" 

Younghyun didn't answer for a moment, and just stared at this boy aged thirteen. He, too, was aged thirteen back then. Back then when he knelt in front of his family. But instead of these bright eyes that had hope inside of them, Younghyun’s had been filled with hatred, and grief, and sorrow. 

"I can't answer that," Younghyun said instead. "I can't tell you who I am, or why I watch over you, and if the situation comes that you discover me—as you always do—I have to think of a way to make you stop believing." 

"But that doesn't—wait." Dowoon paused. "What do you mean 'as I always do'?" 

"I mean that you're delusional, and my voice is just in your head," Younghyun said, already walking away. "You're a crazy person. And you're mad." 

"Wait—no—I still have questions—" 

"You're mad. Goodbye. You're crazy." 

"No— _hyung_ —" 

Dowoon went over and reached for that man's voice—

And ended up grabbing what felt like an arm, in solid air, eyes widening at how warm it was. 

There was nothing in front of him, but he could feel him. He could feel tears forming in his own eyes, but he didn't know why. 

"Hyung…" Dowoon whispered, not knowing why this form of address felt right. "Hyung, don't leave me." 

Younghyun felt a crack in his voice, a lump in his throat. 

"I was also told," he said, "to leave you the moment you ask me not to leave." 

And a second later, Dowoon's grip loosened, slipping on air, holding onto nothing, tears waterfalling down his eyes, feeling that heavy atmosphere lighten, with the absence of a deity in the air. 

"Hyung…" Dowoon called out to no one, falling to the floor, sobs slipping out of his lips. " _Hyung_ …" 

Younghyun could still hear him even when he was miles away. The farther he was, the louder his voice—and his thoughts—would be inside his head. 

It was his curse. Likewise, the nearer he was, the more Dowoon's thoughts dimmed, until Younghyun had to guess what he was thinking. It was difficult to guess what mortals think now that he was a deity, even though he used to be mortal himself. 

Younghyun didn't appear in front of him again. He didn't even bother to watch. And when Dowoon was on his deathbed, he was absent for most of it. 

But. 

In the last of it, 

the last moment, 

the _very_ last moment, 

Younghyun had appeared

to place a hand on that dying body. 

And in Dowoon's last moment, 

there was a smile on his face. 

In this lifetime, Dowoon is a spoiled rich kid. 

After toiling in the last lifetime and doing nothing but working hard and accumulating good deeds, Dowoon was blessed as the son of one of the _chaebol_ , during the time when South Korea needed them to spearhead the economy. 

He lived in luxury, in a mansion full of maids and butlers and requests granted at the sound of a bell. 

He was the youngest of three children, so he didn't have any expectations placed on him, just the expectation to live a relaxed life and a fate to last until he was seventy-one. 

Younghyun, of course, stayed right next to him, to watch at a close distance, to make sure nothing befalls on him. 

But because of the spat from the last lifetime, he was now completely barred from appearing in front of Dowoon, whether as an old man or the wind nuzzling him to sleep. He could only watch and stand right next to him, but since he was destined to live a fortunate life anyway, Younghyun didn't have much to worry about. 

He only worried that Dowoon wouldn't be able to get into the reincarnation cycle, what with the sort of attitude he developed from being so privileged:

"What kind of tea is this? You call _this_ tea?" 

Hot liquid is splashed at the face of a maid, who shrieks and falls to the floor, almost bursting into tears at the searing pain on her cheek. 

Dowoon drops the ten-million-won teacup onto the floor in a loud _crash_! and glares at the maid in cold air. 

"We took you in and gave you more than you can ask for, and you dare laze around like this?" Dowoon _slams_ his hand on the table. " _Do I need to remind you who I am_?" 

That maid continuously mutters her apologies, and the rest of the servants watch with neutral expressions—though one of them looks like they want to say something. 

Naturally, Dowoon doesn't let it pass. 

"You there." And that servant flinches, not daring to look Dowoon in the eye. "What are you shaking for?" 

"I-I-I just th-thought…" That servant glances at the tea-stained maid, but she just lightly shakes his head as if to tell him not to speak. 

Unfortunately, he does not listen. 

"Th-that it's unfair." That servant musters up the courage to face Dowoon in the eye, lightly curling his fists in determination. "Y-Yebin-ah worked s-so hard to make tea for the Young Master. If he would just show some compassion…" 

Dowoon takes a step forward towards him. 

And gives him a smile. 

"Compassion?" he says. " _Compassion_?" he shouts. 

A hand _slams_ down to _smack_ that servant to the ground. 

"Was it not my father's compassion that let you have this job in the first place? Was it not my mother's compassion that you haven't been fired yet? My entire family is responsible for the rise of the entire country—and you dare question our _compassion_?" 

Dowoon deals the last blow to that servant and turns away with a huff, satisfied. 

"Pack your bags—the both of you," he says, without even looking at them. "Thanks to my _compassion_ , I _won't_ have the guards throw you _out_." 

He dismisses the rest of the servants, telling them that he's lost his appetite, and resigns to his chambers, lying down on his giant bed amongst his giant pillows. 

Surely, there must be a catch to this, right? Surely, this cruel, arrogant young master of a family conglomerate must have a heart hidden somewhere, an insecurity he projects to those beneath him? 

But no. The Yoon Dowoon of this lifetime is just that wicked. 

Younghyun sits beside him on the bed as Dowoon mutters to himself bitterly about how unfair the world is, for making him part of the _chaebol_ and _still_ having such garbage servants. He plans to report this to his father, who will probably make a cleansing of the house servants. 

Younghyun just sighs and shakes his head, placing a hand on that black bed of hair placed on top of that sixteen-year-old body. Since he's incorporeal, his touch does nothing, and this can't count as breaching the rules. 

He would want to appear in front of Dowoon. Maybe as a new servant or a tutor, to tell him there's more to life than just being rich and being mean. But if he does, he won't be able to see Dowoon in _any_ lifetime. So, he just silently pats Dowoon's head, trying to comfort himself.

At one point, Dowoon sighs and stops muttering, staring straight at the patterned walls of his room, the high windows, the gilded designs. 

"Why can't it be like in my dreams?" he asks, and Younghyun stills in his movement, almost revealing himself, too. 

"There's always that boy…" he says to no one, lying down on his bed, looking like he wants to sleep when it's still noon. "Always beside me. Wearing that ugly hanbok—" 

He laughs, and there's a trace of innocence there. 

"He keeps ordering me to do things," he says, as if it's the most ridiculous thing. "Like I'm his servant. Ha! Imagine—ordering _me_. Any of _my_ servants wouldn't dare ordering me unless they want to be _dead_." 

Dowoon turns around and nuzzles deeper into his pillow, an amused smile on his face, a pair of closed eyes. 

"Please," he prays, voice going soft, "let me see him in my dreams this time, too." 

A while later, Dowoon falls deep into sleep and a wide smile appears on his face, as if he's having the best dream in the world. 

Younghyun reaches over and pats his hair, feeling nothing yet something, at the same time. 

"The Heavenly King says you can reveal yourself once." 

Younghyun turns to see a war god standing next to him, a neutral expression on his face, wearing a suit of armor. 

Younghyun stands on courtesy and greets him politely. 

"I humbly send my thanks to the Heavenly King," he says, bowing. "Did my lord say why?" 

"No," the war god answers, a deadpan expression on his face. "He just said that by not revealing yourself for so long, you've accumulated too many merits." 

The war god then disappears in a flash, possibly to deliver more messages to even more important people, as without a war he doesn't have much use.

This war god is possibly the most ancient of the deities that Younghyun has ever met, even wearing armor dating to thousands of years ago. Even the god of rain wears suits every so often—and even granted himself a mortal name. 

Younghyun just sits back down and turns to the sleeping boy next to him, who's currently laughing in his sleep.

_Just once, huh?_ Younghyun thinks, placing his incorporeal hand on Dowoon's head. _I'll have to make good use of it._

Six months later, Dowoon finds himself in a dark room, tied to a chair and with a gag in his mouth, faced with a crowd of gangsters who are all laughing at his tear-stricken face. 

"Look at you now, at this state you're in," one of the gangsters guffaws, almost spitting in his face. "You know, young master, your words really struck a chord in me. I suppose _this_ is what happens when you let yourself be too compassionate." 

That gangster is none other than that servant that Dowoon mistreated and fired six months ago, the maid nowhere to be found. Most likely this servant operated on his own accord, keeping it secret from her. 

"You were right, you know," his ex-servant says, walking towards him with a menacing smile, "about that bit with your family doing us favors and whatnot. It's time I return it." 

Someone passes him a jug of boiling tea, and he _splashes_ it right across Dowoon's face, the boy screaming under the muffling of the gag, trying to release himself from the tied rope. 

"Ah, but wait—wasn't there something else that you gifted me?" The ex-servant makes a show of tapping his chin. "Oh, right. This." 

He _punches_ Dowoon right across the face and sends the boy tumbling onto the dirty floor, still with that chair attached to him, his tears creating a river on the floor. 

But the man doesn't stop there—oh, no. He continues beating Dowoon on the ground, each punch harder than the next, and Dowoon feels so much pain that he doesn't even scream anymore, just wants it all to end. 

A hand motion makes the ex-servant pause with his fist in the air, the madness in his eyes still for a second. 

The leader of the mob puts his hand down and says, 

"That's enough, Yeonsung-ah," he says, a man in his fifties, hair already mostly white, an aged darkness in his eyes. "We can't ransom a boy if he's dead." 

"Yes, boss." The man named Yeonsung immediately resigns, going back into the crowd, as if he never raged in the first place. 

"I understand your sentiment, but we must still be able to show the Yoons that their son is at least whole," the boss says. 

Then, he flashes a pair of dark eyes towards the boy on the ground. 

"When they give the money, that's when you can kill him." 

Dowoon whimpers on the ground as the crowd of mobsters laugh and ridicule him, calling him names, threatening to kill him now if he didn't do unspeakable things. 

Then, the laughter stops. As if they never existed in the first place. 

Dowoon turns his eyes up to meet a masked figure, whose features are indistinguishable except for his eyes. 

A second later, the ropes are cut off. And Dowoon is hauled to his feet. 

His rescuer says only one word:

" _Run_." 

Seconds later, the mobsters un-freeze only to find that their hostage has escaped under their noses—no one knows how, but they all come searching for him immediately. 

Meanwhile, Younghyun is already out the building, dragging Dowoon by the arm, jumping the fence, all the guards unconscious. 

Dowoon's panting heavily, not having run in a day of his life, but Younghyun doesn't care about that. Only gets him to safety. 

When they find themselves nestled deep in the woods, Younghyun turns to give Dowoon instructions. 

"Alright. Here's what you need to do," he orders. "Head straight over t—" 

Dowoon grabs Younghyun by the face and stares widely into his eyes. 

" _It's you_." 

He's seen them a thousand times. Those eyes. That voice. It can't be anyone else. But how—

"You better shut your mouth, if you know what's good for you." 

Dowoon immediately clamps his lips shut, though he doesn't remove his hands from Younghyun's face. 

Younghyun sighs in annoyance. He still has no idea how Dowoon keeps recognizing him throughout his various lifetimes when he's already disguised himself thoroughly. 

He's changed his facial features and even his body shape, and he even made sure to tune his voice two pitches higher. He has no idea how Dowoon can recognize him—he's pretty sure the person he saw in his dreams looks nothing like the person now. 

"If you want to escape, you must head over to the auntie wearing yellow living nearby," he instructs, watching Dowoon's watchful eyes. He's already removed those hands from his face. "Stay there for a few months, and wait until your family finds you."

"Is that auntie rich?" Dowoon ends up asking, and Younghyun almost rolls his eyes. 

"No," he answers. "She's not poor, but she isn't wealthy, either." 

Dowoon actually frowns, like not being wealthy is an inconvenience. 

"Didn't anyone tell you who I was when you were assigned to rescue me?" _He thinks I was_ assigned _to rescue him?_ "I can't be placed in a poor person's home. Just take me to my father." 

Younghyun would have lost fifty years if he wasn't immortal. 

"If I take you to your father, you will die. I will not explain to you why." 

He turns behind them to see those mobsters just now discovering that their comrades are all unconscious. He turns back to Dowoon. 

"Look, I don't have time to chit-chat," he says. "If you want to live until seventy, you have to do as I say and follow my orders. No questions." 

"But you're _my_ savior. Why should I—" 

" _SHUT UP AND JUST DO AS I SAY_!" 

Dowoon startles, and those mobsters turn to the direction of the sudden commotion. Younghyun curses under his breath and just turns away. 

"I won't repeat myself twice," he says, taking a step. "Just go—" 

But a hand goes and slips itself in Younghyun's, making the older turn to look at the boy behind him, who has his head hung low. 

"In my dreams," Dowoon whispers, those mobsters all running towards them, "you were younger than me, but you kept ordering me around. You didn't treat me with a single ounce of respect. You were really rude." 

He takes a step forward and presses his forehead against Younghyun's shoulder. 

"At least, take me to that house," he says. "I don't wanna go there alone." 

Younghyun just stares down at this boy for a few seconds, as if there wasn't a crowd of gangsters already gaining on them. 

"Okay," he says, picking Dowoon up and letting him wrap his arms around his neck, rest his face in the crook of his shoulder. "Okay, let's go there together." 

They disappear as soon as the gangsters reach their area, and none of them have a single clue that there was someone there. Each of them had their own fates to follow, and whatever happens is an entirely different story. 

Younghyun places Dowoon down just in front of that old house. There doesn't seem to be anyone home, so the auntie must've gone out. 

When Dowoon finds his two feet on flat ground, he immediately goes to grab Younghyun's masked face, staring straight at his eyes. 

"It really is you," he says, not a shed of doubt in his expression. "I don't know how, but it's you." 

Younghyun gives up on wondering how Dowoon can see through his disguise. He just removes those hands from his face and gives him another set of instructions. 

"That ahjumma will arrive soon," he says. "Just wait here, and you'll be safe." 

"You're not going to leave me are you?" Dowoon asks, grabbing his hands. "You can't just leave me—don't—" 

" _Don't_ tell me not to leave you, or I really will leave you," Younghyun cuts him off. "Now, stay. We part here." 

"That doesn't make any sense!" Dowoon refuses to let go of him. "I tell you not to leave, you leave; I _don't_ tell you not to leave, you _still_ leave? I only just met you—" 

"This isn't the first time we met," Younghyun mutters—

"Why does it have to be the _last_ time, then?" Dowoon cuts him off this time, the grip on his hands turning painful. "Ever since I saw you in my dreams, I've wondered if you were real—I've been wanting to meet you, I wanted to know who you _are_ —you can't just rescue me and then leave me behind—you can't do that—not to _me_!" 

Younghyun knows he means that he can't do that because of his family background. Regardless, Younghyun knows he can't disagree. 

"You're always so _rude_. You're always so _bossy_. You're always such a _jerk_ , and I—" 

Dowoon lowers his head, knuckles turning white. 

"What if I never see you again?" he asks, almost sobbing. Though knowing the Dowoon of this lifetime, he's probably holding the tears back. 

Younghyun cups his face and looks him in the eye. 

"You will," he says, meaning it. "You will see me again." 

"How?" Dowoon asks, gritting his teeth, holding onto the hands on his cheeks. "How will I see you again? Tell me what to do." 

"Be good," Younghyun advises, "and be kind." 

And the man disappears without a single trace. 

Dowoon lets out a sob, clutching at his chest. His heart never had anything inside of it, yet it now feels unbearably hollow. 

"Excuse me, young man. Do you need help with something?" 

Dowoon turns to see an auntie with two baskets on either of her shoulders, looking at him in both concern and curiosity. 

Dowoon sniffs and wipes his face, shaking his head. 

"Of course not," he says, then approaches her. "You sure do, though." 

Dowoon dies five years later, during a car crash after the Summer Olympics. 

His fate read that he'd reach up to seventy-one years old, but that ex-servant went ahead and stole the rest of the fifty years from him, after being re-admitted by the Yoons to be the young master's personal driver. 

Purposely stealing away a person's years was a grave crime, and since the servant also died in the crash, he was probably going to perish forever, never to return to the reincarnation cycle. 

As for Dowoon, he was never really able to accumulate enough good deeds to become part of the cycle again, but because he was wrongfully murdered, he was given a next life as compensation. 

A close call, in Younghyun's opinion. If Dowoon really perished, he would've given up his godhood to become a drop in the sea. No memories, no conscience. 

Just water in the ocean. 

But Dowoon had been reincarnated, so Younghyun went back to business. 

This time, Dowoon is an orphan. He grew up with other orphans, in which the directress was monotheistic, so… Younghyun felt a little offended. 

He had to listen to long sermons about stuff that basically overthrew his existence, and while it was boring, it was also pretty funny—

Especially when Dowoon believed every word of it. 

A former deity believing that the idea of deities is blasphemous—how ironic. 

In any case, Dowoon eventually graduated from that orphanage, and then graduated high school to attend college, and now he works as a part-time cashier at a DVD store in Busan, his hometown. 

So far, nothing's happened. It's been the most peaceful lifetime so far. Younghyun's never even needed to help Dowoon once—he might even finally make a lifetime without Dowoon recognizing him. 

The door to the DVD store opens just as Younghyun's about to discover whether Seolhyun from the drama Romantic Knights was Jisung's sister or past lover. 

"Oppaaa," a cheery girl greets with a grin and approaches the twenty-year-old who's currently rearranging CDs on the shelves. 

"Hyejin-ah," Dowoon greets in a monotonous voice. "Didn't I tell you to stop visiting me at work?" 

"But I never see you around anymore." Hyejin pouts and crouches next to Dowoon, tilting her face to look up at him. "Plus, I have something to give you." 

"What is it?" Dowoon asks, turning to look at her. 

He falls for it and receives a kiss to the lips. 

"That," says Hyejin, curling her naturally red lips at him, and she giggles, lightly covering her face while doing it. 

A small smile appears on Dowoon's face, too, and he turns back to his work, shaking his head. 

Younghyun only glances once at this scene before turning back to the TV perched up on the wall; he himself is just seated on top of the cashier counter, watching Jisung cry in despair over having kissed his own sister (ew). 

Dowoon and Hyejin met in high school, with Dowoon a year older and Hyejin a year younger. Hyejin was the one to ask Dowoon out in her first year of college, and they've been together ever since. 

Younghyun can tell that Dowoon really likes her. After all, he's never once looked at him like that before. It was always Younghyun who looked at him that way. Though it only happened after a very long time. 

The two leave the store when Dowoon finishes his shift, holding hands as they walk out and talk and laugh. 

They stand in front of a pedestrian lane, waiting for the street light to go green, as Younghyun stands next to them, looking left and right. 

He widens his eyes, but he isn't able to move fast enough—or rather, he isn't _made_ to move fast enough. 

_"That isn't part of your deal, Kang Younghyun,"_ says a booming voice in his head. _"Death is non-negotiable."_

And so Younghyun can do nothing, 

except let death happen. 

The first time Younghyun encountered death it was over four hundred years ago, when he was thirteen and still a mortal, kneeling in front of the burial mounds of his parents. 

Among them was the gravesite of his younger sister, and then the gravesite of his grandparents, his aunt and uncle buried next to them, too. 

They all died because of a house fire, just two nights ago. 

It was because their guardian deity broke his promise. 

In every town and city, there was a guardian deity, meant to watch over every household. To call on their guardian deity, every family had a protection charm, which they either had on their person or hung on the door. 

The wealthiest families had charms all over their residence. The poorest families could only afford one or two. 

Two nights ago, a giant fire spread across their town, burning down even the most noble of households. 

But the most noble of families all survived. 

While the poorest of families couldn't afford to. 

The fire was caused by arson, by a gang of rebels who aimed to cause chaos throughout the country. Younghyun's house was the first to go down, and he could clearly hear the prayers screamed by his family as they called upon their guardian deity. 

But their guardian deity favored the rich, with their dozens and dozens of protection charms. Their prayers were heard, while Younghyun's family was lost to silence. 

Younghyun was the only one who was able to escape. By running off on his own accord. 

Two nights later, he sat by the burial mounds of his family, cursing the guardian deity who didn't protect them at all. 

"Is it our fault that we couldn't afford to worship you?" Younghyun asked, bitter tears falling down to the balled fists on his knees. "Is it our fault that we couldn't afford a virtuous life?" 

He cursed him and cursed him and cursed him out loud, hoping that he would hear it— _prayed_ that he could hear it, so that he knew which promise he'd broken, by promising them those charms. 

And he _had_ heard them. He who was standing behind that boy who was crying and cursing him out, kneeling in front of the buried bodies of his family. He didn't know how he should feel about it. He was a deity, so he couldn't understand. 

He had been the guardian deity of this town ever since it was established. He was born by the townspeople's needs to be protected. Through those charms, he would be able to hear each and every person who needed his help. The more charms they had, the louder their voices would be. 

And so the voice of one nobleman would be louder than a thousand beggars. 

Now he stood behind a kneeling boy, previously thinking he had saved everyone. He had thought that everyone was in possession of his charms. It was not as if he had put a price on them. Why was this boy speaking of not being able to afford them? 

He had been ignorant of human affairs and preferred not to meddle with them, as deities did not meddle with humans. When he was called, he would come; that was all he had to do. 

Yet here he was. In front of a family he was unable to protect. 

This boy was part of the poorest in the neighbourhood. The beggars had no homes, so they weren't affected. All the poor families lost one or two members. It was only this one that lost almost all. 

That guardian deity listened as this boy's curses rang in his ears. The closer he got, the louder his voice would be. 

"I hate you." _I hate myself._

"Curse you." _Curse myself._

"You didn't protect them." _I couldn't protect them_. 

"You're a liar." _I shouldn't have believed in you_. 

Voices and thoughts—the guardian deity heard them all. He went down and knelt behind the boy and wrapped his arms around him. He hugged him and pressed his forehead against the back of that boy's head. 

_Apologies_ , he seemed to say, _for my oversight_.

That boy suddenly froze. As if he felt he had felt someone hold onto him, and try to comfort him, as much as a deity could comfort a human. 

He slowly reached his hand up, to place on a part of his torso, where he had felt the slightest of breezes, the slightest of pressures. 

He felt something. 

_Someone was there._

"Are you the guardian deity of my town?" Younghyun asked, the tears frozen on his face, eyes unblinking. 

The deity didn't answer. 

"You killed my family," Younghyun said, voice void of emotion. "You saved everyone else, but you killed them." 

The deity didn't answer this time either. But Younghyun didn't press further. 

"You have a debt to pay," he told him, that previous innocence of youth thrown out to the wind, alongside the ashes of his family. "For taking the lives of my family, I'm taking your freedom. You will serve me, until I die." 

The guardian deity said nothing. But he did not move, either. 

Younghyun deftly held onto what felt like a hand and stood up, pulling the deity over. 

"Come," he said. "There's much work to be done." 

Whispers overpopulated the air as the townspeople murmured and mingled about the recently burned-down residence of the Kang family, by which the eldest son Younghyun was the only survivor. 

Most of them speculated that the poor boy would go mad or at least wallow in misery. Many people took pity on him, and some even sighed until there was no more breath left in their lungs. 

To everyone's surprise, though, it seemed that the young boy was doing alright, working day and night to repair his empty residence. It looked even better than it had _before_ it burned down, making the people blink, dumbfounded. 

But what made rumors circulate in the area was not the odd resiliency of this seemingly harmless young boy, but rather the story told by two neighbors who went to visit him, that which eventually spread to the rest of the town. 

"You wouldn't believe your eyes!" said one of the neighbors, his companion nodding his head furiously like he wanted to tell the story himself. "When we came to visit little Younghyun's house to gift him some vegetables, there were piles and piles of wood all around him _floating_ in mid-air! I thought I would faint!" 

"And—and—" His companion could no longer hold his tongue. "Little Younghyun was even talking to the wood! Giving it instructions, like, 'Put it there,' and 'Do it like so-and-so'! He's become a shaman, I tell you—he's raised his family from the dead!" 

Of course, it wasn't actually like that. Younghyun would actually kill to be able to raise his family from the dead. Instead, it was just him giving his new servant instructions to help him rebuild his house. 

Younghyun didn't want to refer to that guardian deity with a respectful form of address, so he just named him "Yoon Dowoon", something he just thought of on the fly. He ordered him to do many things, and sometimes he would even order him to do things that weren't necessary. 

"Dowoon-ah, turn that pile of wood eight times in the air." 

And so Dowoon did. 

"Dowoon-ah, bring this bucket to that tree over there, run around it four times, and then come back here while jumping." 

And Dowoon did as so. 

The deity, at this point in time, was still invisible, so the only indication Younghyun had of "jumping" was the bucket moving up and down as it neared him. 

Despite being ordered to do ridiculous things—actually, despite being ordered to do _anything_ , really—that guardian deity still did everything as he was told, as if he was really adamant in clearing his debt. 

But how can one clear the debt of seven lives in just one lifetime? Younghyun reckoned this deity will serve him even in the next. 

As Younghyun grew older, and he started to get into business, the rumors of him becoming a shaman turned wild and beyond him, even going as far as to proclaim that he could grant wishes. 

"Oh, great shaman," one visitor suddenly said to him in a bundle of tears, while Younghyun was washing his clothes in a river, "my youngest daughter is gravely sick. If you could please ask the heavens to spare her, I swear to never indulge in worldly pleasures again!" 

Younghyun had stared at this crying man, himself aged sixteen, as he wrung his clothes dry and put them in the basket next to him, reaching over for his other set of dirty clothes. 

"Dowoon-ah," he said, feeling the deity shift beside him, "can you get rid of this man's daughter's illness?" 

The deity did not reply. Younghyun turned to the man beside him. 

"Check back with me tomorrow." 

And so the man profusely thanked and bowed at him, leaving only after Younghyun dunked his hand in the river and splashed him with water. 

The next day, a crowd of villagers gathered in front of his house, the result of that man's request needing no explanation. 

They asked "the great shaman" for favors in exchange for becoming better people, either by shedding their previous indulgences or accommodating more virtuous practices. 

Younghyun couldn't care less what actually happened to them and only asked "Dowoon-ah" if he would be able to grant their wishes. He always told them to come back tomorrow, never affirming or denying their requests. 

But always their requests would eventually come true. 

Younghyun found himself sitting under the porch of his house one day, under the recently finished wooden pillars, the thatched roof he had constructed himself (with some help). 

He felt the guardian deity seated next to him, truly like a servant, awaiting orders. 

"You're granting their wishes because you want to make up for what you did, didn't you." 

It was a statement, not a question. A fact, not an accusation. 

The deity didn't respond. 

"How many lives came under your oversight?" Younghyun asked. "How much misfortune have you caused, because you couldn't hear the voices of the unfortunate in your head?" 

The deity, again, did not respond. 

"Every wish you granted came from impoverished households. Tell me—if a nobleman came for me, would you grant his wish, too?" 

Silence. 

Younghyun turned away. 

"No," he said. "A nobleman wouldn't come for me, anyway." 

Three years passed by in a flash. Politicians and scholars alike were surprised at how this lowly, impoverished village had somehow become the most virtuous community in the region. 

Everyone was prospering, not a single one indulged in temptations, and it seemed that everyone regarded everyone as kin, brothers, family. 

As for Younghyun, he wanted to move away. 

Most likely, the community will fall apart without him there to serve as a medium to the spirits, but as mentioned before, Younghyun didn't care about them. His house was became too empty to live in, and after accumulating enough money, Younghyun wanted to travel. 

"You're the guardian deity of this town, so I won't force you to come with me," he said as he loaded the donkey one of his neighbors gifted him for saving his chickens. "You can just clear your debt in my next life. You're a deity, so it won't be hard to find me, probably." 

He finally finished loading his things and turned around to where he sensed that deity to be. Six years—it was easy. 

"I'm still mad at you," he said. "And I still hate you." 

The deity said nothing. 

Younghyun turned to his donkey. 

Then he clicked his tongue. 

"God, I hate you so much," he muttered. 

He went over and unloaded his things. 

Three years passed by slowly. Younghyun was fully-grown now, so he didn't rely on that deity to help him with things anymore. Instead, he used him to relieve himself of boredom, when he had something to talk about but no one to talk to. 

"The plum blossoms are nice this year," Younghyun said, gazing at them as he ate a bag of nuts, "but they were nicer last year." 

Dowoon said nothing. 

"That old man was obviously a con-artist," Younghyun said, throwing a bag of coins in the air as he walked home. "Don't know why anyone believed him." 

Dowoon didn't reply. 

"Being a deity must feel like a curse," Younghyun said, cross-legged by the river. "You help people, but you can't help yourself." 

Dowoon didn't answer. 

Can one pinpoint the exact moment that winter turns to spring? Is it possible to know which second the rain falls? Does the sun set at the same time every day?

No. But you can tell when it's already happened. 

Younghyun reached a hand out, from where he splayed on top of his bed. He was able to replace the straw with soft padding. He was able to replace the straw with gilded tiles. 

"Show me your face," he said, reaching to where he knew he was, reaching to where he had to be. 

The deity did not. 

"This is not a request," Younghyun said. "This is an order." 

And so the deity did. 

The deity revealed himself, like the passing of time, like silhouettes behind paper windows. The deity revealed himself, like the blooming of a plum blossom, prettier than any year come before or after it. 

Younghyun reached his hand out further, to cup that face with his fingers. Stared at it, looked at it, as those bright eyes stared back at him, too. 

He clicked his tongue. 

"Of course, you'd be beautiful," he said. 

Before pulling that face closer and kissing it. 

Dowoon understood very few things that night. He was a deity, and it was a mortal night. He understood that it was a very mortal need, and he understood that the man above him was as mortal as mortal could be. 

As for the rest… Dowoon understood none of it. 

He laid down next to him after they finished, head on his chest, fingers stroking his loose hair, all ornaments tossed aside. 

He felt Younghyun lift his hair up just to have the locks slide through his fingers like silk, his own coarse hair let loose as well, without that crudely-done topknot. 

"I assume that by making love to one another," he said, still playing with Dowoon's hair, "we've made a grave injustice to the heavens and the earth?" 

Dowoon lifted his eyes to look at him. He nodded. 

Younghyun stopped stroking his hair in favor of stroking his chin. 

"Lost your voice, have you?" he said, lips in a thin line. "Well, no matter. I can always hear it again." 

He put his hand down and pet Dowoon's head, eyes staring out of the frameless, paperless window, as if deep in thought. 

"I've fallen in love with you," he said, in a very calm voice. Steady, like still water. "And I want to take you as my husband. However, it would be impossible to do, as the heavens would most likely curse the marriage than bless it. We can only promise ourselves to each other—perhaps, that alone is already enough." 

Dowoon still said nothing. Younghyun looked down as he stroked the deity's head. 

"From now on," he said, "you must refer to me as 'hyung'." 

Dowoon looked up at him. 

"I am thousands of years older than you," he said, speaking words for the first time. 

Younghyun acted like he didn't notice it. 

"You still have a debt to pay," he said, pointedly. 

Dowoon put his head back down to rest against his chest. 

"Hyung," he said, and heard Younghyun's smile. 

He was able to hear it because of the thousands of thoughts that ran through his head, even when the words would never leave his lips. He was able to know Younghyun's happiness, because a human heart never lies. 

But alas—

"Happiness," Dowoon whispered, once Younghyun fell asleep, "is a mortal desire." 

The next day, heaven sent a group of heavenly guards to take Dowoon away and with Younghyun in tow. 

They were put on trial in front of every major deity of heaven. The god of rain was there, the war god was there—

Even the umbrella deity was there, though he was only there to watch the show. 

Although Younghyun was brought to the trial, he was brought there as a witness, as the victim, the person who had someone to blame. And the person he was supposedly blaming—

was none other than his own Dowoon. 

The crimes he had committed were as follows:

Revealing his presence to a mortal being, and therefore tipping the balance of various areas affected by it;

Directly providing aid to that same mortal being, and therefore being unjustly biased towards him when he was to guard _all_ citizens of his town;

Granting the wishes of everyone who approached that false shaman, without a sense of restraint, therefore abusing the powers granted to him; 

Having intimate relations with a mortal man, and therefore breaking a numerous amount of laws both in heaven and earth;

among others. 

Dowoon was asked if there was anything he would like to object. 

"None, my lord," he said, bowing down before the Heavenly King. "I humbly accept whatever punishment my lord decrees." 

" _You can't do this_!" 

A voice rang out from the corner of the hall, its body restrained by a set of chains, after it repeatedly made trouble in the name of the deity in question. 

"Dowoon-ah only did what he was told," Younghyun protested, tears streaming down his face, a look of desperation spread across it. " _I_ was the one who cursed him. _I_ was the one who compelled him to do everything. _I_ did him wrong—it was _me_!" 

The Heavenly King did not even look at him. 

"'Dowoon-ah' is a deity," he said, voice calm and steady, but powerful and booming. "No matter the situation, only the mortal can be wronged." 

Younghyun wanted to protest further. He wanted to fight for him, to break away from these chains, to reach out to him, hold him, and never let go. 

But Dowoon stopped him with a mere look alone. 

"You want to defend me," he stated, "because you have fallen in love with me. And you believe that I have fallen for you, too, in a way that a deity would. 

"But love is a mortal emotion. As is happiness, anger, and sorrow. Our sorrow cannot be your sorrow. Our happiness is not the same as yours. 

"You think I have fallen in love with you, but the truth is I have not. I only attached myself to you, because of the debt I have yet to repay you. 

"I am a deity, hyung. I cannot love you." 

He lowered his head and bowed in Younghyun's direction. 

"Apologies," he said, "for my oversight." 

Dowoon was sent to be part of the reincarnation cycle, to forever live the lives of the mortals he favored so much. He was to live as them for the rest of eternity, never to return to heaven no matter what he had done. 

Younghyun kept silent, as the decree was given. Younghyun kept silent, even as Dowoon was taken away. 

Then, Younghyun started laughing. Then, he was cackling. Then, he was roaring. 

The deities naturally couldn't ignore the madness seemingly seeping into this man's skull. It was only the Heavenly King who looked at him with a calm demeanor. 

"Speak your mind, Kang Younghyun," he said, and Younghyun turned to him with a giggly grin. 

"For nine years of my life, I had to live without the love of my family, and after falling in love with the deity who caused their deaths in the first place, I'm told that he is incapable of loving me? What a laugh, what a laugh!" 

Younghyun roared some more, until he abruptly went to a stop. 

"But you sent him to become a mortal," he said, face flat, finding it unfunny. "How can he repay his debt, then? What about my compensation?" 

The Heavenly King gazed at him. 

"And what 'compensation' does Kang Younghyun think to suffice that so-called debt?" 

The man grinned at him. 

"I want to become a deity," he said. "Moreover, I want to become a guardian deity. _His_ guardian deity. I want to watch over him throughout all his lifetimes." 

"And how does Kang Younghyun believe this will solve his debt?" 

"Simple." Younghyun shrugged. "There's no greater joy than watching one's enemies suffer again and again. I want to watch my Dowoon-ah live a wonderful, wonderful life—only for it all to come to an end, once he's in front of death's door. 

"I want to watch him get stabbed to death. I want to watch him get trampled by a nobleman's sedan. If I could watch him suffer while alive, that would be even better. 

"I want to watch him live life exactly like a mortal." 

The Heavenly King kept his eyes on him, stared at him, as if studying him. 

"And you believe that is truly your heart's desire?" he asked. 

"My lord—" Younghyun smiled at him. "What else would it be?" 

It only took him four lifetimes to know what it could only be. 

The first lifetime he nearly dispersed his soul crying as he watched Dowoon get tormented by his own father, unable to lie to himself anymore as his own mortal heart was as honest as it had always been. 

Even if he closed his eyes, and even if he flew miles and miles away, he could still hear Dowoon's cries, Dowoon's screams, Dowoon begging for mercy. 

He was a deity now, but he was mortal before, and mortals always lived by their heart's desire. 

No matter the pain he felt, no matter the torture Dowoon put him in, Younghyun couldn't erase his love for him, thereby hurting himself even further in the process, with every thought that passed through Dowoon's mind, every tear that trickled down his face. 

_Please_ , he had once thought, _if there's a deity out there. Please. Please, save me._

Younghyun had wanted to. So, so badly. 

He was able to hold out for three lifetimes. If just to keep seeing Dowoon again for three thousand more. 

But in the fourth one, Younghyun caved. 

He revealed himself and held Dowoon close and told him everything amidst the tears and the sorrys and the I'll never leave you again. 

He told him he didn't have to love him. He told him that as long as he could stay by his side and protect him, that would be enough. 

He was sentenced to a thousand years of imprisonment for doing so. 

He was encased in darkness, unable to see or hear anything except the sounds of Dowoon's torment, whichever it might be. 

He wasn't even allowed to see his joy—only his sadness, only his grief, only his pain, only his misery. 

Younghyun was lifeless, a dead body hanging from chains, unable to cry or even breath, the tears lodged in his throat. 

Heaven thought the games were finally over. 

But it seemed that a new round was just beginning. 

Heaven found that for every lifetime that followed—and every lifetime that Younghyun was able to follow—Dowoon managed to constantly remember bits and pieces of Younghyun, whether it was fragments or watered-down versions of the original. 

The first lifetime he had wished for a deity with a specific face in mind;

the second, he had the habit of scanning the crowds, as if he was searching for a specific someone but not knowing who;

the third, all his lovers molded together seemed to form a picture; and

the fourth, he had called out Younghyun's name. 

It was why Younghyun descended in the first place. 

Lifetime and lifetime again, Dowoon ended up going back to that person he used to have relations with, when it was clear that he held no attachment to him at all. 

It was impossible for a deity to feel mortal love. It wasn't in their nature, and Dowoon was born to aid, not love. 

Why, then, had Dowoon run away from home, because the person he was betrothed to was not the man he had dreamt of? Why, then, had Dowoon gotten arrested for sneaking into the crown prince's chambers, only to look upon the face that looked so, so similar? 

Why, then, did Dowoon paint only one face for fifty years, when no one around him resembled that face, when he existed that face existed? 

Who knows why any of this happened? 

But you can't deny that it already did. 

And for the eighth lifetime, Dowoon was an impoverished man, born to a poor family who died in a fire. For years, he pretended to be a shaman and accumulated enough wealth to become a traveller. 

Maybe then, he would find out who Kang Younghyun was. 

It was a name he had known ever since he first formed memories. _Kang Younghyun, Kang Younghyun_ —the name repeated itself endlessly. 

No one around him was surnamed Kang. And no one around him knew of a Younghyun. 

So, he travelled far and wide to find out who exactly this Kang Younghyun was. And why exactly his name has been ringing in his head. 

Eventually, he arrived at a city. The most prosperous city in all of the land. It had its humble beginnings as a shaman-lead community, which eventually grew to house temples of every kind. 

Dowoon had asked some of the locals if they knew of a Kang Younghyun.

But none of them knew of a single one. 

Until Dowoon arrived at an old burial mound. 

Centuries have made the crudely-marked piece of wood fade into dust, with not a single character to serve as a clue as to whoever was buried here. 

But Dowoon knew that he had been here before. 

He knelt down on the ground and reached his arms out, as if to hug someone, the motion so, so familiar. He was brought to tears, not knowing why or how, but he just knew he was missing someone. There should have been someone by his side. 

"Are you new here?" 

Dowoon looked up to see a girl looking down at him, and he immediately looked away, feeling flustered. 

"Y-yes, miss," he said, standing up and wiping his tears. "P-pardon for the intrusion." 

"No need," the girl said, a smile in her voice. "I was just surprised since no one but my family visits this place." 

That made Dowoon a bit curious. 

"I-is it your family that's buried here, miss?" 

"Oh, no. It's the family of a distant family friend," she said, waving her hand. "He was the local shaman of this place, almost three hundred years ago. My great-grandfather told me that if he hadn't asked the deities to save one of my ancestors when she was ill, our entire bloodline would be finished—which is why we took it upon ourselves to look after this burial mound."

That girl turned to the small hills with a seemingly pensive expression. 

"Unfortunately, that shaman died a tragic death. No one knows where his body went, and it seemed that the deities gave up on him, as well. My great-grandfather told me that he always called a specific one to aid the people. I believe he referred to him as 'Dowoon-ah'..."

Younghyun was granted pardon on the notion that there was nothing heaven could do. 

It seemed that even in Younghyun's absence, Dowoon would eventually find out about his past. And after Dowoon called out to the people of his discovery—thereby tipping the balance of various areas of existence—heaven decreed that Younghyun be given a new assignment. 

To watch over Yoon Dowoon, and make sure that he does not tip the balance of the world in the name of Kang Younghyun. 

He was not to change anything in Dowoon's fate. And he was to avoid revealing himself to him, unless it was absolutely necessary. 

He was not to let Dowoon know a thing about his past, his own past, and their past together. 

And if Dowoon were to ever ask him to stay, 

Younghyun was to leave. 

Younghyun promised to stay within the conditions, and promised to not meddle with human affairs. 

And so he was sent down on earth, to watch over the one person whom he promised himself to, from this lifetime to the next. 

He didn't need his love. Nor his care, nor his sentiment. 

All he wanted was somebody _to_ love. 

Perhaps, that

was all he needed. 

Younghyun sits next to Dowoon as the latter nearly disperses his soul crying, seated in the empty waiting room of the hospital, the sobs echoing across the white walls. 

The doctors tried to save her, but Hyejin couldn't make it. There were too many internal injuries—

and two hearts fatally crushed. 

Younghyun turns to look at where Dowoon has his head nestled between his knees, his hands clasped in front of him, his shoulders shaking non-stop, not since he heard the news. 

Hyejin's parents arrived an hour after the hospital called them, and then pushed Dowoon out of the room, yelling and screaming at his face. 

They never did approve of their relationship. Not when Dowoon had nothing to his name. And now, they had a reason to cut him off. It was because of him that their daughter died. 

Dowoon continues to sob uncontrollably, amidst the tears and the I'm sorrys and the I wish it was me instead. 

He lifts his head up, looking straight in front of him, and speaks in a thick, shaky voice. 

"Is this what it felt like," he asks, "when you lost me?" 

He turns to where Younghyun is seated, meeting his eyes with his blurry ones. 

"Is this what it felt like," he asks, eyebrows furrowed, eyes colored red, "when I left you?" 

Dowoon lets out sobs and strangled cries, still staring at him, the sounds coming straight from his throat. 

"It hurts, hyung…" Dowoon whines, banging at his chest with a fist. "It hurts right here…" 

Younghyun can't bear watching anymore, so he leaves.

He sits on the steps by Cheonggyeocheon river, a restoration project meant to undo the damage done by rapid urban development. 

Back then, he was able to witness the old river in its glory. Now, it's just a cemented replica. The people of today would call it a success. The people of yesterday would've called it a failure. 

"You aren't going to talk to him some more?" 

Younghyun turns to see the umbrella deity standing next to him, his transparent umbrella held like a cane with both arms. 

"He spoke to you first," Jaehyung says. "I hardly think that would count as breaching the lines." 

Younghyun doesn't say anything to that and just turns away to stare at the red-glowing river. 

"You know, most people would think low of an umbrella deity," Jaehyung continues, unbothered. Still standing still—tall, and thin. "I can't bring rain like Wonpil can. And I can't bring the country victory when the world goes to war. 

"But compared to any of those deities, I am the one who will last the longest. As people will always need shelter from the rain, I will continue to live on in whatever invention they turn me into. 

"But while I love doing what I am made to do, I had no say in what I was meant to do. And likewise, you have no say in what fate tells you to do. Your Dowoon-ah will only continue to grieve, and changing the details is the same as doing nothing at all. 

"You made so much effort into making his life easier, but in the end, you can do nothing. In the end, you end up like this."

A couple of seconds pass by. A couple passes by. 

"Why," Jaehyung asks, "do you torture yourself like this?" 

"Because," Younghyun says, "I can." 

The umbrella deity just huffs and lifts his umbrella up. Opens it, holding it high. 

"Wonpil will come soon," he says and leaves, in an instant. 

Younghyun stands up and looks back, as if he can see that crying figure seated in a hospital kilometers away. 

He listens to his crying voice, every sob, every pleading, and turns back to look in front of him, a single thought inside his mind. 

_Happiness_ , he thinks, _is a mortal emotion._

Dowoon dies five minutes later, after a crazed man comes in the hospital room holding a knife and blazing fire in his eyes. 

Apparently, that man's wife had died at the hands of one of the surgeons, and he chose that specific night to enact his revenge. 

Fortunately and unfortunately, Dowoon was right there just as it happened, and he shielded that surgeon just as the knife stabbed his chest. The same doctor that attended to Hyejin attended to him as well, and so two lives were lost that same night. 

In the new lifetime, Dowoon just graduated college. He's twenty-two now, and he's been living on his own for six years. While his parents own a book shop in Busan, _he_ is currently late for his new job on his first day. 

_I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna die_ , he chants in his head as he runs in the streets, a pair of airpods stuck in either of his ears. Hey, if you're gonna be late to work, at least have some cool music to go with it. 

_Ughhh,_ why _did I choose to wake up late_ today _?_ Dowoon thinks, seeing the familiar street.

The music shop is just around the corner. If he just turns fast enough—

" _Oof_!" 

He bumps into a guy and almost sends both of them falling. 

"Ow…" Dowoon says, holding onto his shoulder. He turns to the man in front of him. "I'm sorry, sir. Are you alrigh…" 

A pair of bright eyes. As bright as the heavens. A pair of bright eyes. As bright as… 

Dowoon isn't able to collect himself for a few seconds, as his voice falters and his eyes stare forward. The next sentence comes out as a blurt, almost as if someone else said it instead.

"Have we met before?" Dowoon asks, eyes wide, voice breathy, entire being astonished. 

Younghyun smiles. 

"No," he says, "I don't think we have." 

**Author's Note:**

> i like this story the same way i like pagtatagpo
> 
> title from tswift's [daylight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9raS7-NisU) (i like it a lot)
> 
> [carrd](https://rqyh.carrd.co/) for updates and info!!


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